Second Chances
by Rabidnar
Summary: Three months after her first death on the job, Officer Beca Mitchell is ready to return to the Missing Person's field and take on another case. But getting mixed up with Chloe Beale and her missing daughter may just be more than Beca bargained for.


**Disclaime**r: I do not own Pitch Perfect or any of the characters! I own nothing.  
**A/N: **I've decided to work on a mini-project alongside Arr. This is my first Bechloe story. Also, I really don't know that much about cops, FBI, private agents, whatever. Like I said, it's just a mini-project, so minimal research and maximum bull-shitting!  
**Warning: **This fic will be dark. And extremely AU.

* * *

**Second Chances**

* * *

_All of these lines across my face,  
__Tell you the story of who I am.  
So many stories of where I've been,_  
_And how I got to where I am.  
- Brandi Carlile_

* * *

"_Police!" Beca's boot crashes into the flimsy door attached to a rundown trailer. Neighbors watch through their bent, plastic blinds, their eyes boring into her back like ominous creatures in a forest at night. The hinges creak and the doorknob dents the wall before the door bounces back in her direction. She stops it with her elbow and lifts her gun out in front of her. "Come out with your hands on your head!"_

_Silence._

_Empty soda bottles and a pizza box litter the stained carpet and furniture. The place reeks of urine and stale beer. "Get the light," she whispers to Jesse and steps a half of an inch to the side, out of his way. His hand reaches around the wall and flips the switch just like three days before when they stood in this exact same spot. The living room illuminates. Beca isn't surprised that, aside from the trash, it's empty. It was empty just days before as well. But this time, dread settles in the pit of her stomach. Her throat feels knotted. She turns her head to face Jesse, still watching the dark hall off to the right out of the corner of her eye. "Cover me?"_

_Jesse gives a firm nod. He lifts his gun, pointing it first toward the left then toward the right as he inches through the space between Beca and the door. "Kitchen is clear," he states, scanning the empty room to the left of them. Like the living room, it's trashed with half empty takeout containers. He steps to the side in the direction of the hallway and hovers one hand over the lightswitch._

_Beca inches across the room and positions herself around the corner of the hallway. She leans forward and glances into the darkness then nods in Jesse's direction. The light turns on and Beca pauses a moment to realize how unfortunate it is that trailers seem to be bigger on the inside than they do from the outside. She draws in a silent breath, her chest expanding against her bullet-proof vest, and presses her back to the wall, inching down the hallway in silence. She doesn't care if the bastard she's about to slap handcuffs on hears her coming, but she's quiet so she can listen._

_They should be here. They _have_ to be here. After three months on having almost no leads to the whereabouts of Jason Taylor and his fifteen year old daughter Mae, they finally received an anonymous tip from a neighbor that Jason had retreated back to his trailer - with Mae right along with him. _Idiot_. Jesus Christ does Beca Mitchell love idiots. Their stupidity always leads to her victory._

_Jesse backs against the wall opposite of her. He winks at her. That stupid wink he always does before she 'catches the bad guy'. She smirks and rolls her eyes then sarcastically blows him a kiss. But then her playful banter comes to an end. They'll have time for all that when they're celebrating later. Or maybe she'll just skip the sex for some sleep tonight. She'd best tell him that _after _they've got their perp in custody though._

_They move in unison, each of their steps the same width apart. Three years of being partners and they've finally managed to at least appear like they're a team. Beca will take it. It's better than Aubrey Posen snapping orders in her ear every two seconds. Here, she's in charge. She stops outside the first room, the bedroom, and gives Jesse a slight nod to signal that she's going to check it out. He nods._

_Beca spins on her heel and points her gun at the room's interior. She turns on the light and examines the place. Void of people. Nowhere to hide. This month's issue of Playboy is open on the bed. _Gross_. Last month's was better. _

"_Mitchell," Jesse's hiss draws her attention back to the hall._

_She backs out of the room, turning around as she reaches the hallway. Her gaze follows Jesse's toward the only room left in the house. The bathroom door is slightly ajar, the dim light of a nightlight Beca had seen above the sink during their previous visit just barely shining through the crack between the door and the wall. She made note of the night light for the simple reason that it was in the shape of a music note. She realizes seconds later that it's not the light that drew Jesse's attention though._

_There's a muffled whimper. Female. Young. Most importantly, _alive_._

_Beca doesn't make time for a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors to figure out which of them is going to bust this bastard. Not this time. She's been on this case for too fucking long. She closes the distance between herself and the bathroom with Jesse just a few inches behind her. Her heart thuds in her chest. She can hear it in her ears. It sends a rush of adrenaline coursing through her body. She stops outside of the door and nudges it open with one hand, the other gripping the cold handle of her gun with her finger trained on the trigger._

_Jason Taylor stands a silent, blubbering mess, holding a handgun to a head of blonde hair in front of him. Mae's brown eyes are wide. She whimpers through a gag._

"_Drop your weapon," Beca demands, pointing her gun at Jason's shoulder._

"_I thought I could be a good dad," Jason chokes out. These are Beca's least favorite cases. The ones where her perpetrator isn't just a crazed, emotionless psychopath. Tears stream down his face and a gurgled sob catches in the back of his throat, causing his adam's apple to bob._

_Mae's eyes are trained on Beca. Her legs shake. She tries to cry out, but her words are muffled by the tan cloth stuffed in her mouth._

"_Look, you can still be a good dad," Jesse tries to reason with the man from behind Beca. Beca has come to realize it's just his tactic. It's a shit tactic. "You can start by putting down your gun."_

_Jason shakes his head. His tears catch in his scruffy beard. "She can't go back to her mother." He sniffled loudly. "She's not a capable woman."_

_Jesse nods. "We agree." It's a lie. Mae's mother is perfectly capable, albeit not exactly being the most present mother. She has a well-paying job as a surgeon at Atlanta Medical and a fiance who probably isn't going to hold her teenage daughter at gunpoint. "We promise we're going to take care of your daughter."_

"_Put down your gun," Beca demands, well-aware that she lacks Jesse's capability of feigned sympathy. Her nostrils flare in determination._

"_You put down your gun," Jason retorts. His voice carries an almost lighter tone._

_Beca smirks. "Are you serious?"_

"_Put down your gun or I'll shoot her!" Jason shouts. He jams the gun against Mae's temple, causing her to shriek in a mixture of pain and terror. Her arms tug at their tightly tied cloth restraints. Jason's arm tightens around her waist._

_This is why Beca hates emotional psychopaths._

"_Put down your guns," Jason demands, his voice cracking with each word. More tears pour down his freckled cheeks. "Kick them over here." He rests his finger on the trigger of his weapon._

_Jesse squats down and lays his weapon on the floor._

_Beca does a double take at his gun. "Dude!" She composes herself. She can hear her blood rushing through her veins. The sound of metal scraping tiles as Jesse kicks his gun across the floor is louder. Her partner is an idiot. Aubrey _wants_ her to get shot one of these days, pairing her up with a guy who so willing gives up his weapon. That actually doesn't surprise her. She raises her gun to Jason's forehead. If he doesn't drop his gun during a shoulder shot and Jesse doesn't have a weapon to back her up with, they're all screwed. "This is the last time I tell you to drop your gun," she warns._

"_I think you should put down your gun," Jesse whispers. This time his words are directed toward her._

_Mae shakes her head._

"_I'll shoot!" Jason practically shrieks._

_The corners of Beca's lips twitch with indecision. She looks at the indentation that the barrel of the gun makes against Mae's skin. "Damn it," she hisses to herself under her breath. She squats down and places her gun on the floor then gives it a rough kick in Jason's direction. They should have called for some fucking backup._

_Jason momentarily appears stunned. He glances back and forth between the gun and Beca._

"_Let your daughter go," Jesse speaks up again. Calmly._

"_You...you said you'd take care of her," Jason sputters, staring at them with widened eyes._

"_We will," Jesse answers, but, by then, Beca has already realized their mistake. _Fucking hell._ She stares at her gun, quickly determining the best way to grab it back. She won't be quick enough. Jesse is clueless._

_Quick thinking has Beca barreling across the bathroom in Jason's direction - a valiant effort to prove to him that she will protect his daughter. But Jason isn't so quick to give her a second chance._

_One shot rings out. Then another._

_Beca's head spins and she's almost certain she's deaf. Suddenly she and Jesse are the only two left standing._

xxxxx

Beca bolts upright in bed, head pounding and lungs aching for air. For a moment, she's still. The light peeking in through the cracks in her curtains illuminate the room just enough that it's clear she's in a bedroom and there are no blood spatters on the wall across from her. This is her apartment. Her alarm clock blares in her ears (louder in the right than the left), playing a Bulletproof mix that she had put together a few months before. It used to make waking up at the crack of dawn tolerable. Why the fuck hasn't she changed it yet? She knocks over an empty vodka bottle on her nightstand as she slams her hand down on the clock to put a stop to the intolerable noise. Her breaths slow and she flops back down against her pillow, staring up at the ceiling.

Three months and she's still plagued by nightmares. _Pathetic_.

She kicks at her thick comforter, fighting to untangle herself with just her legs, then forces herself to sit back up and throws the blanket toward the end of the bed. The movement causes the room to spin. _Jesus Christ_, how much did she have to drink last night? She closes her eyes and grips the corner of her nightstand as she turns and swings her legs over the edge of the bed. Her first day back and Aubrey is already going to kill her. Not that she cares. She grunts and forces herself to her feet then drags herself toward the kitchen with as much energy and effort she can muster for some much needed coffee.

If she's late, Aubrey will really have her head.


End file.
